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Forums » General Roleplay » Summer Soiree: Midsummer Nights & Firefli (Closed)

Holland (played by Mvx)

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Setting: Modern slice-of-life | Open to humanoid characters who fit a contemporary, realistic, or light urban fantasy setting.
Restrictions: No major combat, supernatural powers must be toned down to ambient/mystical vibes. Open until June 29, 2025.

You didn’t plan on coming here.

Maybe you saw the hand-drawn flyer taped to the community board at your favorite café. Or maybe it was slipped under your door without a name. Maybe it was a post online, half-hidden between sponsored ads and event spam, that simply read:


Midsummer Nights & Fireflies
Lanterns. Music. Wishes.
June 21st, twilight
Bring a blanket and something you’ve never said out loud.
— Nico

Something about it pulled you in. And now, here you are—walking into the edge of a wildflower field as the fireflies begin to glow.

Hosted by yours truly, local college student, musician, and chaos-with-a-heart, this event is part picnic, part twilight therapy session. Blankets and pillows are scattered across the grass. There are mason jars lit with fairy lights, acoustic music drifting through the air, and a tin full of paper, pens, and string.

You’re invited to write a wish, confession, or memory. Tie it to a floating lantern. Set it free.

They say if a firefly lands on you, someone else’s wish will come true—with your help. But that’s probably just a rumor, right?

There’s lemonade, snacks, and a quiet, unspoken invitation to just be—with no pressure to impress or explain. Just soft music, summer air, and a sky full of maybe’s.

Rules
  • Open to: Human, realistic, or low-magic modern characters.
  • Tone: Lowkey, atmospheric, and introspective. Light flirting and gentle emotional tension welcome. Please keep IC drama to a minimum. This is a calm and healing space.
  • Pacing: Flexible. Post when you can; we’re all adults with lives. No pressure.
  • Cap: Soft at 8, may allow more.

This is meant to be a shared, immersive experience—anyone is welcome to add flavor, props, or little side moments as long as it fits the overall vibe. Want to have your character bring food? Set up a sketching spot? Play guitar or share a spoken word piece? Go for it.

If it feels soft, meaningful, or gently magical, it belongs here. Just respect the mellow tone and help build a space others can settle into.

This thread is closed as the sitewide Summer Soiree event as ended. Thank you to everyone who participated!
Wesson Appaloosa (played by noeul)

He truly hadn't expected to come here.

He was far too drenched in his work life, too stressed to exude care, too tired and just—too much. It was only because of his wistful cousin's goading and promise of something more that he caved in, let his strict social code wither, turn the heartache into something palpable, soft, real. He had wondered if he were dreaming, as he stopped a ways out from the location, had wondered how he had let himself get to this point—but it was here now, just that spot over there, and it'd be a bit foolish to turn around now.

So, Wesson stepped out upon the trail, thin as it was, and peered up at the sky, the vivid twilight where the stars were only beginning to show their cold faces. He hadn't bothered to change out of his uniform, as he was still fresh from his shift for the day, but he supposed, most wouldn't have mind, or at least, he hoped.

He soon came upon the field, blooming with wildflowers, and the tiny yet bright flashing specks of soft light danced their evening dance, and he also wondered, how he had never truly seen them before. Walking into the area, decorated and adorned, he noted the tin, remembering what Seneca had told him, and asked himself if he really would do what was needed of him.

Soon.

Carefully, softly, "Greetings," he would say into the gentle silence.
A new summer, a new town... what wasn't new was this annual ritual of the Blackwell family. For as long as Tabby could remember, her family had moved on a yearly basis. It almost always occurred right after school let out. Once or twice, the family had pulled up stakes mid-school year. Those moves were always the worst. Her father was always getting transferred at his job. It had something to do with setting up new facilities and getting them running smoothly. About a year after that, it was time to move on so he could help with the ground breaking of the next one. Of course, the real reason her father took this job was to help hide his drinking and keep his wife and kids from getting too cozy. It wouldn't benefit him if she or her brother got comfortable enough with a teacher or school official to open up about their home life.

Once again, Tabby hadn't slept well in a new strange room that lacked furniture or most of her belongings. She had a suitcase with her necessities, a sleeping bag and blankets that would do until her bed arrived with the rest of their stuff on the May Flower moving truck that should be arriving sometime within the next week or two. Aside from that, she had her electric guitar but the amp was packed away with all of the rest of the contents of her room. Her guitar was the only thing that brought her comfort.

As she wandered the streets of the new and unfamiliar town, padded gig bag slung over her shoulder, she spied a flyer on a telephone pole. It looked like something to take her mind off her problems for a few hours and it was free. Maybe she would even meet someone there. Tabby had learned never to get too attached to anything or anyone. She bit her lower lip and twirled a lock of red hair around her finger absently. It was a habit she'd been trying hard to break. If nothing else, it was something to do given there was nothing for her to do back home. With that, she began walking in the direction of where she thought the event might be. Ahead, she saw a group of people gathered. This must be it, Tabby concluded mentally. Unfortunately, she didn't have a blanket with her, but worst case she'd stand for awhile and watch until her legs got tired. Anything was better than going home...
Janice Wu (played by jennaisante)

The invitation hadn’t been carelessly slid under her door like a flyer or a piece of junk mail. It had been deliberately placed there, as if someone had taken the time to position it with precision against the frame. The deliberate placement made Janice feel like the person who left it knew she’d notice something so slightly off, something that broke from her usual routine of receiving random advertisements and notices. Janice stood frozen in the hallway, staring at it for a long while, blinking once, and twice, before finally crouching down to pick it up, her curiosity getting the better of her.

The invitation itself was simple, yet intriguing. Midsummer Nights & Fireflies was printed on the front in elegant, cursive font. Below that, in smaller text, were the details: Lanterns. Music. Wishes. It sounded like a whimsical summer gathering, the kind that Janice had never attended before. The invitation also included a couple of instructions: Bring a blanket and something you’ve never said out loud. The message was signed with a single name: Nico. There was something enigmatic about the signature, as if Nico was someone Janice should know, but she couldn't quite place.

Janice turned the invitation over, expecting to find more information on the back, but it was blank. There was no explanation of who Nico was, or how they knew her. No RSVP code or flyer branding like the campus clubs usually had. Just soft, high-quality cardstock that was warm to the touch, and handwriting that felt too poetic to be random. The lack of details only added to Janice's curiosity.

She stood in her hallway for another full minute, holding the invitation and trying to make sense of it. Finally, she stepped back inside her room. She set the invitation on her desk, right next to her annotated microeconomics textbook, and stared at it like it was an alien object that didn’t belong. And in a way, it didn’t. Not in her world of precision, scheduling apps, and semester goals. Janice was a planner, someone who liked to know what was coming next. This invitation, with its vague details and poetic language, was a departure from her usual routine.

A gathering in the middle of summer, with lanterns, music, and wishes? It sounded like something out of a fairy tale, not something that would happen in her mundane, adult life. The rational part of her immediately listed reasons not to go. Too ambiguous. Too unstructured. Too inefficient. Janice was a person who liked to have a plan, to know what to expect. This invitation was the opposite of that. And yet, as she stood there, she felt a spark of curiosity ignite within her. She closed her textbook without finishing the last paragraph, something she rarely did. For once, the chart she was reviewing didn’t seem that urgent. It was summer, after all. The exams were over, and the silence in her room suddenly felt… stagnant.

Her fingers brushed over the edge of the invitation again, as if drawn to it by an unseen force. It didn’t matter who Nico was. It didn’t matter how the invitation even got to her door. What mattered was the sense of possibility that it represented.

Maybe one night off wouldn’t destroy her academic standing. Maybe doing something without a plan was its own kind of risk-reward analysis. The thought was tantalizing, like a whispered secret. Janice felt a thrill of excitement run through her as she considered the possibility. She packed a small blanket into her bag, as the invitation had instructed. Then, carefully, she wrote something on a tiny slip of paper, something she had never said out loud. It was a secret, one that she had kept hidden for years. She folded the paper twice, then slid it into the side pocket of her backpack like it was a fragile, living thing.

.......
....
..

The field stretched out beneath the twilight sky like a secret waiting to be told. It was farther from campus than she expected, tucked behind a row of sycamores that rustled softly in the summer breeze. Janice followed the winding path that cut through the grass, her steps hesitant and careful. Her shoes made the faintest sound over the dirt, and her bag... too big, too neatly packed bumped against her hip with every motion.

She wasn’t used to this kind of space. The sky overhead felt too open, the silence between each breeze too alive. It wasn’t the curated hush of the library or the predictable hum of a lecture hall. This quiet was full of voices, even if no one was speaking.

Janice slowed, standing at the edge of it all, unsure where to place herself.
Holland (played by Mvx) Topic Starter

The twilight was richer tonight. As if the sky had steeped longer in its blues and purples just for them. Fireflies pulsed in the tall grass like heartbeat echoes, slow and rhythmic, while Holland adjusted the position of a flickering lantern to the left of the woven picnic mat he’d unrolled earlier. It leaned too far into the dirt and flickered like it might give up—but he coaxed it upright again with two sticks and a muttered, “C’mon, buddy. You’re part of the aesthetic.”

Low music hummed from a compact Bluetooth speaker tucked inside an old guitar case. It played a playlist he’d stitched together last night—mostly acoustic, some Korean indie tracks, a few instrumental covers of old American rock songs. Stuff you could speak over without having to raise your voice.

By now, a few people had arrived, each entering the clearing like the hush before the page of a new story. Holland had greeted them in his own casual way—smiles, soft gestures toward the refreshments, vague jokes about firefly wishes being legally binding.

The first to arrive had been a man—tall, weary in posture, still in uniform. Holland didn’t ask what kind of shift he came from; the way the guy took in the open field, the lights, the quiet, said enough. When he heard the polite “Greetings,” Holland had answered with a soft grin from where he crouched, lighting the corner of a citronella candle.

“Hey. You made it.” His tone had no surprise, just quiet encouragement. “There’s a seat by the flatter part of the hill if you don’t wanna get your boots eaten by roots. No pressure on the lantern thing. Only rule is no judging the snacks or I fight you.” The joke was light, but his eyes were soft with sincerity.

The next—Tabitha—had arrived with the air of someone displaced but curious, an electric guitar strapped over her shoulder like a lifeline. Holland had noticed the lack of a blanket, and without missing a beat, had waved her over toward one of the communal patchwork throws.

“You can share mine,” he’d offered, sitting cross-legged and already cracking open a bag of peach rings. “Also, I admire the commitment to bringing the instrument of your soul. I would’ve brought my amp too but I didn’t feel like sacrificing a power strip to the gods of damp grass.”

He offered her a sugar-coated ring. “Peach diplomacy?”

And then—

He felt her before he saw her. A familiarity in the shift of energy.

Janice.

Holland didn’t move at first. He was watching the flickering lights, fingers idly pressing the tuning pegs of his acoustic guitar. But his eyes cut toward the sycamores. There she stood—carefully poised at the edge of it all, a backpack bumping neatly against her hip, gaze unsure like she had just stepped into someone else’s dream.

He hadn’t seen her in a while. Not really. Not since things had started getting complicated—study sessions that turned into shared playlists and coffee runs that ended with confessions held back by teeth clenched in smiles. It had never gone anywhere, but maybe that was the problem. It had almost gone somewhere.

So he stayed seated for a second longer. Let her adjust to the open sky. Then he stood. He dusted his hands on his jeans and picked up an extra lantern from the tin bucket.

“Hey,” he called gently, walking her way with a slight tilt of his head. His voice held no weight of unfinished history—just that warm, relaxed cadence he used when easing someone into the moment. “Look what the fireflies dragged in.”

When he reached her, he handed her the lantern without ceremony.

“No RSVP required,” he said with a soft half-smile. “Come on in. I saved a spot.”

He glanced back over his shoulder at the lights scattered across the grass. A few people already writing their wishes. A breeze carrying the soft scent of wildflowers and a distant summer grill.

“It’s kinda nice tonight,” he added. “Doesn’t even feel real, right?”

And to her—just her, under his breath—he said with a teasing but sincere glint in his voice:

“You brought a wish, right?”
Max Beauchamp (played anonymously)

Max hadn't planned on attending the event. Not really, at least. In his own mind, he justified his presence by telling himself it was just a casual walk to clear his head. The truth was, he needed to escape the confines of his apartment, where the walls seemed to be closing in on him, heavy with the musty scent of old case files and the lingering aroma of yesterday's stale coffee. However, there was another reason, a more subtle pull that he couldn't quite ignore. A flyer, peculiar and wistful in its tone, had been sitting on his desk for three days, catching his eye repeatedly. He would fold it, unfold it, and stare at it, as if searching for a hidden message.

The flyer read: "Midsummer Nights & Fireflies - Lanterns. Music. Wishes. June 21st, twilight. Bring a blanket and something you've never said out loud. — Nico." The simplicity and the enigmatic nature of the message had a certain allure to it.

Max didn't know anyone named Nico, nor did he recall how the flyer had ended up on his desk. It was possible that it was posted on a bulletin board at the corner café he frequented, or perhaps it was slipped under his door when he wasn't looking. Despite the mystery surrounding it, the flyer possessed a strange charm, with just the right amount of whitespace between the lines, making it feel like an invitation that was both impersonal and personal at the same time.

As he stood at the edge of a lush wildflower field, the setting sun cast a warm, golden glow across the landscape, and the air was so still that it seemed as though the world was pausing, holding its breath in anticipation. The first fireflies of the evening had begun their ethereal dance, their soft blinking lights weaving a gentle spell in the growing dusk. A small gathering of people was scattered across the field, he saw a man pondering himself, probably the same reason of being curious as him. To the woman with electric guitar that Max nearly stumbled upon her. "Hey, sorry." he said to Tabitha. And to the woman whom have this blank expression on her face. probably confused why she was here and the guy whom greet everyone on the field. Did he the Nico one?

Max slipped his hands into the pockets of his coat and exhaled slowly through his nose. His scuffed boots crunched softly on the path, where wild mint and clover had been trampled down. He was overdressed for the occasion, wearing long sleeves and a black jacket, but that was nothing new for him. Often, his comfort was secondary to his need to present a certain image or to shield himself from the world around him.
Like a deer in the headlights, Tabby wandered absently among the strangers. It appeared things were just getting under way. “Carry a towel or blanket in the future,” she noted under her breath. There was a book called The Hitchhikers Guide to The Galaxy. One of the main characters always had a towel and it was a recurring theme throughout the story. Given that she seemed to be terminal vagabond, that might be advice worth following.

It was at that point someone motioned to her to come over. Perhaps it was the host of the event. There was a pile of what looked like quilts, probably generously provided for the unprepared like herself.

“You can share mine,” he’d offered, sitting cross-legged and already cracking open a bag of peach rings. “Also, I admire the commitment to bringing the instrument of your soul. I would’ve brought my amp too but I didn’t feel like sacrificing a power strip to the gods of damp grass.”

“Thanks," Tabby replied accepting the offer to share the blanket. “I’m Tabby. I just moved here from out of state. The moving truck hadn’t arrived yet with our stuff. My amp is packed. My family are living out of our suitcases at our new home. I have a few changes of clothes and the necessities. Right now, I have a pallet on the floor of my bedroom until the bed shows up. I was out exploring and brought my guitar with me so I could practice without the amp. I just happened to stumble upon your event.”

He offered her a sugar-coated ring. “Peach diplomacy?”

Tabby smiled and accepted the peach flavored ring from the bag. About that time, another newcomer almost accidentally bumped into her.

"Hey, sorry." he said to Tabitha.

“No worries,” she replied. Clearly the man hadn’t meant to run into her and things were a bit chaotic.

“So, uh, I take it you live around here,” Tabby inquired awkwardly to her host.
Wesson Appaloosa (played by noeul)

By now, a few more others had carved their way in like morning fog—in a way, silent, but the presence heavy yet soft, just so—and Wesson let them be, for now. His tension-logged mind was preoccupied with the what ifs and hows, roiling over what his own presence could merit to such an event, a gathering, as gentle of voice it was. The social aspects of life were novel to him, or at least, were now a memory snuffed out by the relentless tides of his due hardship, and he was 43 now, just a silhouette, really.

Still, Seneca did not urge him to be another shadow, a splotch of grey in a field of harmonized colour. He could be more, even if for one night.

He eyed the source of the first voice that addressed him, the apparent host, and momentarily, the lines and creases in Wesson's face softened, melted away by candlelight. He was young, and he could only wonder what life would have in store for him if he never went to the academy, never pursued the badge. "Of course," he began, little lines of mirth trickling into his voice, "You have an endearing event here—" he took the pause to flit his eyes from one point to another, giving space to those stepping in behind him, "Had to see what it was about." The softness, how it melded into his tone, molding it into something uncharacteristic.

Wesson glanced towards the spot he was suggested, again, wondering, awonder, if he would deal with the silence just a bit longer. The lanterns—it wouldn't hurt to cast his soul to the stars, but perhaps, just a bit later. Instead, he inched further in the clearing, hearing the soft crunch of boots upon the earth, and turned, nodding in greetings at the newcomer—Max.
Janice Wu (played by jennaisante)

Janice looked around and taking in her surroundings. She could see the man who had arrived before her standing off to the side. He was still wearing his uniform, which made her think that he was probably an officer or maybe even a bodyguard. His imposing presence made her feel slightly nervous because... well, Janice had never really encountered anyone like him before. She wasn't used to being around people like police officers or their men, mainly because she was a nice girl who kept to herself. However, she had been fiercely protective of herself when that stranger had tried to lay a hand on her after she had refused his advances, and Holland had stepped in to defend her by laying a fist on the stranger. The memory of that incident still made her feel a little shaken.

As she continued to observe the people around her, her gaze landed on a young lady with an electric guitar. The girl introduced herself as Tabby, and Janice thought that it would be great to tell Lyra about this event because her friend was a talented pianist. Although, if she was being honest, Lyra seemed to have a preference for the violin over the piano. Janice imagined that Tabby and Lyra could put on a beautiful performance together with their instruments, and it would be a great addition to this lantern wish event. Adding some music to the evening would surely make it even more special, wouldn't it?

However, as she went about taking in the sights and sounds of the event, Janice couldn't help but feel like she was being drawn into Holland's orbit. Everywhere she went, he seemed to be there, and it made her feel a little flutter in her chest. When he approached her and handed her a lantern, she smiled at him, trying to play it cool. "So, I should call you Nico from now on?" she asked, trying to make a joke, although it felt a bit awkward. "I thought you were Holland." She took the lantern from him, admiring its beauty and the way the fireflies danced around it, adding to the serene atmosphere of the evening. The lantern wish event was turning out to be the perfect summer activity for someone as reserved as Janice. She knew that Natasha would probably have preferred to go to a beach summer event instead, but this place felt so... her.

Holland handed her the lantern, and Janice took it as she was feeling gratitude towards him. "I wasn't... sure if I should come," she admitted, looking around the field at the other people gathered there. Her eyes landed on the mysterious man that appear after everyone and stumbled on Tabitha, and she felt a slight tightening of her fingers on the lantern's handle. "It seemed... socially ambiguous," she said, trying to explain her initial hesitation.

There was a beat of silence before she cleared her throat and continued, "But the message said to bring something you've never said out loud. Statistically, it's rare for people to even acknowledge the things they don't articulate. So... I thought, maybe I should try. And thank you for saving a spot for me." She shifted her weight slightly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear with the edge of her thumb, a nervous habit.

And that was it. Janice's words weren't eloquent or poetic, but for her, it was as close to a confession as she could manage. She looked at the glow of the lantern again, and quietly, almost like she was asking herself, she whispered to Holland after he asked her if she brought a wish, "...How do we start?"
Holland (played by Mvx) Topic Starter

The field had found its rhythm.

Blankets rustled. Lanterns bobbed like tiny moons tethered to hope. And somewhere in the background, Holland’s playlist drifted seamlessly into Hyukoh—melancholy guitar chords laid bare against the deepening dusk. The kind of music that invited reflection, or maybe just made it easier to sit in silence beside someone.

He made his rounds, a soft smile curving his lips as he weaved between groups like a barefoot host at his own dream.

Max had arrived quiet, all angles and shadows, his black jacket absorbing the soft ambient glow like it didn’t want to give any light back. Holland had noticed him the moment he stepped onto the field—the kind of presence that didn’t try to draw attention but commanded it anyway.

“Hey,” Holland called over gently, catching him just after his apology to Tabby. “You’re good. Grass makes for tricky traffic.”

He nodded toward the tin bucket of unlit lanterns. “Grab one if you feel like it. Or don’t. There’s no right way to be here.” A beat passed, then his tone softened, quieter now. “You came dressed like the end of the world, though. That a statement or just laundry day?”

It was a tease—light and noncommittal—but the warmth in Holland’s eyes said he was glad Max came, whether he answered or not.

Next was Wesson, who had nestled a little deeper into the gathering. Holland passed near where the older man had settled and slowed his step as their eyes met again.

“You’ve got a presence, y’know?” Holland said quietly, glancing toward the horizon. “Like… you anchor the space around you. We don’t get a lot of people like that showing up to field parties with fairy lights.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, the sincerity in his tone now obvious. “Thanks for coming. I mean that. Sometimes I think this stuff only works if people let it work.”

A nod. Just enough to acknowledge what Wesson brought by simply showing up.

Nearby, Tabitha had taken up space on the edge of one of the communal blankets. Holland returned to her as the guitar case behind him gave a little thunk from someone brushing it.

“I think your guitar’s jealous,” he said with mock-seriousness. “It’s wondering when it’s gonna get some playtime.”

She mentioned her move, the unpacked state of her life, the pallet on the floor. Holland’s brows lifted in something like sympathy—but not pity.

“Sounds rough,” he said. “But hey, at least you brought the right survival tool. Guitar’s the universal translator.”

He handed her a second peach ring, like a continuation of their earlier pact. “We might be field-testing a firefly jam session later. No pressure, just vibes. You in?”

Then finally—Janice.

Holland didn’t rush back to her. He moved with the slow, certain gravity of someone returning to a moment rather than just a person.

She was still standing with the lantern in hand, that subtle crease of thought between her brows. When she asked, “So I should call you Nico now?”—Holland’s grin broke, wide and unguarded.

“Nico’s my undercover summer persona,” he replied smoothly, “used strictly for softboy propaganda.”

When she spoke her confession, he let her. Didn’t interrupt. He watched her—not like he was waiting to respond, but like he was just listening. Like her words had room to land. “That’s the charm,” Holland said gently. “No pressure to perform. No RSVP. Just… moments. One at a time.”

Then she asked the real question.

And for a second, he didn’t speak. He just looked at her—the girl who always had her planner, her structured schedules, her efficient steps toward the future—and saw how brave she was just for standing here holding something fragile.

Holland held out his hand.

“You come with me,” he said quietly. “We’ll light it together.”

Holland could tell—she was halfway in two worlds. The one where she always had a plan, and the one he was inviting her into now: unpredictable, quiet, and maybe just a little beautiful in its uncertainty.

“You come with me,” he said softly, extending a hand.

Whether she took it or not didn’t matter—he’d already begun to walk beside her.

They moved a little further out, away from the chatter, until the fireflies thinned and the night pressed closer around them. The wind rustled low through the wild mint, and the hush here was different. Personal. Like the world had tipped its head slightly to listen.

Holland knelt down, setting his own unlit lantern on the flattened grass. From his pocket, he fished out a small tealight and matchbook, the kind that came free with diner receipts.

He lit his own first, shielding the flame with his palm. Then, he glanced at hers.

“You don’t have to say it out loud,” he murmured, the firelight dancing in his eyes. “Some wishes only need one person to believe in them.”

Then, in that rare moment of stillness, he held the flame between them—offering it to her without reaching too far. The silence was soft. He was just… waiting.

Waiting for her to light it.
Or to speak.
Or to stay quiet.

Whatever she chose—Holland would understand.
Max Beauchamp (played anonymously)

Max gave Tabitha an apologetic half-smile, stepping back just enough to give her space.

“Appreciate that,” he said, brushing a few stray crumbs of dirt from his jacket, a completely unnecessary gesture, but his hands needed something to do. “Didn’t mean to come in like a wrecking ball.”

His tone was light, but there was that usual glint of dry humor behind his eyes. "First time I’ve been somewhere that asks you to bring your secrets instead of snacks,” he added, voice low, almost to himself. Then he looked back at her, more clearly this time. “Max,” he offered, with a small nod. “I’d say ‘nice to meet you,’ but I’ve already elbowed you once, so I might be starting in the negatives.”

There was something genuine in the way he said it, quiet, awkward warmth he never quite knew how to put away.

Max turned slightly, his eyes catching Holland’s with the same measured pace he gave most things. He didn’t flinch at the tease, if anything, the corner of his mouth twitched, the closest he got to a smile without actual effort.

“Laundry day,” he deadpanned. “Or maybe I just like blending in with nightfall. Keeps expectations low.”

He glanced at the tin bucket of lanterns like it was some kind of social puzzle he wasn’t entirely sure he was qualified to solve. His fingers tapped absently at the seam of his jacket, the only outward tell that he wasn’t quite used to soft places like this. No precinct. No suspects. Just sky, bugs, and music he didn’t recognize.

“Didn’t plan on sticking around long,” he added, eyes drifting to the fireflies. “But I guess I’m still here.”

Max’s voice carried that signature quiet roughness. Not cold, just lived-in. The kind of tone that always sounded like it belonged in parking lots at midnight or on the tail end of a confession someone didn’t want to make.

He looked back at Holland, that faint ghost of a grin still in place. “Figure I can hold a lantern for a little while. Can’t be worse than some of the stakeouts I’ve done.”

And then, with a nod, maybe more to himself than to anyone else, Max stepped forward, reaching for the nearest lantern. The metal was cold in his hand, lighter than he expected.

Yeah. He could stay a little longer.

Max noticed Wesson's nod before he even registered the face. He returned it with a simple lift of his chin, the kind of greeting that didn’t ask for much but meant he’d seen you, clocked you, marked your presence as something worth keeping in mind.

The clearing was quieter here. Softer. The world fell away the deeper in you went, and Max felt the weight of it. Not heavy, just… real. Like standing on the edge of something you weren’t sure you were meant to witness.

His boots crunched over the same packed grass, finding a path beside Wesson, though he didn’t crowd. Max didn’t do crowding. He did hovering in the way people with sharp thoughts often did, close enough to hear, far enough not to be heard unless invited.

He looked toward the sky, where fireflies blinked like blinking secrets, and then to the waiting lanterns.

“Not in a rush to light yours either, huh?” he asked without really looking at Wesson, voice dry but not unkind. “Guess some things need time.”

He shifted his weight, hands in his pockets, the hush between them not awkward but rather companionable in that way only two quiet people could make it. Then, after a pause long enough to let the crickets have their moment, Max added:

“Max Beauchamp.”

His name, offered not as a demand but a gesture. Like holding a door open. He glanced sideways, brow slightly raised, not pressing, just wondering. Quiet curiosity wrapped in the armor of indifference.

He let the crickets fill the gap again before exhaling, slow, like smoke that never was.

“Feel a little like a third wheel out here,” Max said finally, eyes still on the horizon where dusk was bleeding into blue. “Seems like the host might’ve just found his girl.”

He nodded subtly toward where Holland stood a few dozen paces away, talking to Janice. Max couldn’t help it—a small, wry twist pulled at his mouth. Not quite jealousy. Not even envy. Just the faint recognition of being the outsider again, the observer in a place built for something gentler than he was used to.

“I didn’t come here for a date,” Max added, tone dry with amusement. “But I also didn’t expect to walk into a Nicholas Sparks scene either.”

He shifted his weight again, thumb brushing along the edge of the unlit lantern he held. “Might’ve brought something deeper than my usual sarcasm if I’d known.”

And then he glanced at Wesson, sideways, casual but with that sharpness underneath.

“You look like a guy who doesn’t say much until it counts,” Max said. “That makes two of us.”

A pause.

“I don’t mind the quiet. Beats pretending you belong when you don’t.”

There wasn’t sadness in the way Max said it. Just fact. Like weather. He looked up again, watching the first stars blink awake.

“But maybe I’ll light the damn lantern anyway,” he murmured, more to himself now. “Worst thing it can do is prove me wrong.”

He glanced toward Tabitha next, "Do you want to join us, nice lady?"
Janice Wu (played by jennaisante)

Holland's charming way of speaking had a subtle effect on her, causing a faint smile to creep onto her lips. She remained patient as he engaged with the other guests, understanding that as the host of this gathering, it was his duty to attend to them. For the time being, Janice was content to simply stand back and appreciate the breathtaking view that surrounded them. Just then, Holland reached out and offered his hand to her. Janice hesitated for a moment, her hand suspended in mid-air as she became aware of the numerous eyes upon them. However, she decided to take his hand firmly, intertwining her fingers with his as she did so. She was willing to follow his lead, allowing him to guide her through the evening's events.

As they strolled further away from the crowd, the fireflies began to flutter around them, becoming the primary focus of their surroundings. Although Janice could still see the officer-like individual and the enigmatic man named Max standing together in the distance, her attention was drawn to the serene atmosphere that now enveloped them. Initially, the juxtaposition of the two men seemed peculiar, and Janice found herself biting the inside of her cheek to stifle a laugh. She wasn't quite sure why, but their contrasting silhouettes struck her as endearing, and she couldn't help but feel amused by their awkward stance together.

As they continued their leisurely walk, Holland eventually knelt down beside her. The soft, warm glow of his candle cast a comforting light on their surroundings, but Janice didn't reach out to light her own lantern just yet. Instead, she clutched it tightly to her chest, as if protecting it from the gentle breeze or perhaps from her own hesitation. The silence between them began to stretch, but just as it was becoming too prolonged, Janice spoke up. "Wait," she said softly, her gaze avoiding Holland's. "I... I need a pen."

With practiced ease, Janice slipped her bag off her shoulder and retrieved a thin black pen and a small, neatly folded piece of paper that she had tucked between the pages of her planner. Her fingers moved with precision as she unclipped the front pocket of her bag, revealing the contents within.

As she started to write, her hand remained steady, betraying none of the turmoil that might be brewing inside her. The words flowed out of her pen in a handwriting style that was not only legible but also remarkably neat, almost too precise for a message so intimate and personal. She began by writing a line at the top of the paper slip, followed by a second one below it. However, when it came to inscribing the third line, she hesitated, her pen pausing in mid-air for a brief moment as if she was collecting her thoughts or perhaps summoning up the courage to express what she truly felt. Overcoming her momentary doubt, she completed her message and then carefully folded the paper slip once, gently tucking it into the bottom of the lantern.

She held the lantern in place for a moment longer, her fingertips lightly brushing against the metal rim, as if savoring the significance of the act she was about to perform. The words she had written inside the lantern, in that tight, straight script, formed a heartfelt wish. It read:

Please let Holland stay healthy this summer.
Please let him pass all his courses.
Even the one he says he hates.
(Even if he pretends not to care.)
And please… let him know someone does.


As she finally lifted her gaze to meet his, a faint flush became visible on her face, illuminated by the warm and gentle glow of the string lights above. Though her posture remained stiff and guarded, her eyes told a different story. They shone with a quiet tenderness, a feeling that was both nervous and raw. Dropping her gaze once more, she held out the lantern towards him, her voice barely above a whisper. "Could you… help me light it now?"
Nearby, Tabitha had taken up space on the edge of one of the communal blankets. Holland returned to her as the guitar case behind him gave a little thunk from someone brushing it.

Tabby nodded politely in response to Max.

“I think your guitar’s jealous,” he said with mock-seriousness. “It’s wondering when it’s gonna get some playtime.”

She mentioned her move, the unpacked state of her life, the pallet on the floor. Holland’s brows lifted in something like sympathy—but not pity.

“Sounds rough,” he said. “But hey, at least you brought the right survival tool. Guitar’s the universal translator.”

Tabby just nodded. He didn't know the half of it but she wasn't going to get into her home life. That was something she didn't share with anyone, especially a person she'd only just met. That being said, even if they had known each other for a long time, Tabby doubted she would ever confide her deepest darkest secret.

He handed her a second peach ring, like a continuation of their earlier pact. “We might be field-testing a firefly jam session later. No pressure, just vibes. You in?”

"Sure," Tabby answered accepting the second sugar coated ring. She felt guilty she had nothing to share in return. "But I'd need an amp... or an acoustic guitar if someone has one I could borrow."

Without an amplifier to plug into, the guitar was pretty much useless. She didn't own an acoustic. One of the reasons her father had allowed her to get it was she could plug in headphones so he didn't have to listen to the noise when he was home. That was fine by Tabby. She was a rocker girl and the music she played was loud and distorted. She wanted to be a lead guitarist. Strumming chords wasn't her thing. Tabby's guitar style would be sorely out of place if someone did have an amp or an acoustic guitar to loan her, but she could probably come up with something to fit the vibe should the amplification issue be resolved.
Holland (played by Mvx) Topic Starter

There were moments in life that didn’t ask to be remembered—they just etched themselves in, like warmth from the sun you didn’t realize you were soaking in until it lingered on your skin hours later. This was one of those moments.

He watched Janice with the kind of attention usually reserved for lyrics before they became a song. Just… being there as she wrote. The slight furrow in her brow. The way her grip on the pen loosened, then steadied again. He knew her well enough to understand that this was more than scribbling down a thought—this was trust, folded into paper. When she looked up and finally asked, Holland didn’t smile right away. His expression shifted, softened into something almost reverent.

“Yeah,” he murmured, voice as gentle as the flame between them. “Course.”

He leaned in closer, careful not to let the candle sputter as he touched it to the base of her lantern’s wick. It caught slowly, the flame blooming like it, too, had been waiting for permission.

The lantern glowed.

The soft light illuminated her features in golden edges—the curve of her jaw, the faint blush dusting her cheeks, the nervous tilt in her brows. She looked like something between a painting and a poem. But what caught Holland wasn’t how she looked.

It was how she felt in that moment.

Seen. Raw. Brave.

He kept his voice low, as if speaking too loud might undo something sacred.

“Y’know… I’m not sure what you wrote,” he said, “but I think it’s already working.”

Then, a faint curve of his lips. Less a smirk and more like an echo of warmth.

“You’re here. That’s already a wish granted.”

He didn’t take the lantern from her. Just hovered beside her, watching the soft heat flicker through the paper as if it carried a heartbeat of its own.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he added, nodding toward the open sky. “We’ll let it go together.”

And in that moment, with the fireflies blinking gently around them and the hush of summer night wrapping the field like a secret, Holland meant every word.



The lantern felt warmer now.

Not just from the flame, but from what it held inside—something handwritten, vulnerable, folded with purpose. Holland didn’t ask to read it. He never would. That kind of trust wasn’t something you violated with questions. When Janice gave the faintest nod, he reached out to steady her hands with his own.

His palms were rough from calluses, a guitarist’s skin shaped by hours of pressure and practice. But his touch was steady, gentle, reverent. He didn’t take the lantern from her. He just wrapped his fingers lightly around hers, guiding them upward as if together they were holding a shared breath, a shared truth.

“Alright,” he said, voice nearly lost to the hush of the field. “On three?”

“One…”

The fireflies pulsed nearby, their glow like a heartbeat.

“Two…”

The wind picked up softly, just enough to lift the hem of her sleeve and ruffle his hair.

“Three.”

They released.

The lantern rose slowly at first, drifting unevenly like it wasn’t quite sure it wanted to leave. Then, catching the breeze, it ascended—soft gold against the navy dusk—sailing gently into the sky. Holland watched it go. Not just with his eyes, but with everything in him. And when he lowered his gaze again, he didn’t speak right away.

Instead, he turned to Janice.

His hand, once steadying hers, lingered now at her wrist. Thumb brushing lightly across the inside as if still grounded in the moment. As if letting go of the lantern had made room for something else.

“Thanks for sharing that with me,” he said, his voice hushed, sincere. “I know it took a lot.”

His gaze held hers, not heavy but searching. A quiet kind of closeness stretched between them, charged with all the things that hadn’t been said but had been deeply felt. Then, soft as a secret—

“I hope you get your wish, too.”
Luke (played anonymously)

Luke had been running late—not that he was in any particular rush.

He’d spent the last hour poking around the edges of an old record shop, fingers thumbing through dusted vinyl sleeves that smelled like basement air and forgotten summers. The kind of place where time moved differently, warped by the crackle of needle and groove. He wasn’t even planning on buying anything—just needed somewhere quiet, somewhere still.

But eventually, his phone buzzed with a time stamp that reminded him he’d told Bella they’d go to this thing together. Some kind of midsummer lantern picnic hosted by a guy called Nico. Or maybe Holland. The name on the flyer had been vague, but the vibe had caught his interest: fireflies, soft lighting, maybe music. He wasn’t big on field parties, but Bella had seemed intrigued—and that was enough.

They split paths briefly; she’d wanted to check out a vintage shop down the road, promising she’d catch up.

Luke showed up first.

A guitar case was slung across his back, and he carried a compact amp in one hand, the strap of a folding stool hanging off the side. He cut an easy silhouette: relaxed, golden-skinned from the sun, tousled hair pushed back with a lazy hand, and an expression that read like someone who knew his way around a crowd but preferred to hang at the edges of one.

He scanned the field. Fireflies. Blankets. Laughter in the distance. Holland—yep, definitely him—was crouched near a girl who looked like she was trying not to feel too much.

And not far off—someone else with a guitar. That was what caught Luke’s attention.

A girl with red hair and the unmistakable look of someone who knew how to make a six-string scream, even if this place was all hushed tones and slow-burn energy.

He made his way over casually, boots crunching in the soft grass, and dropped the amp beside her blanket with a soft thud.

“Looks like you’ve been eyeing a stage without a mic,” he said, cocking a brow.

Then, offering his hand like it was an afterthought, “Luke.”

He motioned to the amp. “Mini rig. Won’t rattle the trees unless you push it. It’s yours for now—if you promise not to murder the vibe.”

His tone was teasing, but not unkind. The kind of challenge given to someone who looked like they could handle it.

“Try not to kill it,” he added with a smirk. “This crowd’s more stargazing and soft confessions than power chords and crowd dives.”

He glanced over his shoulder, scanning the path again—half-expecting Bella’s arrival any minute now—but turned back, offering a simple nod toward the speaker.

“Go on, Rock Star. Let’s see if you can whisper with a weapon built to wail.”
Wesson Appaloosa (played by noeul)

Out here, just a bit deeper in the clearing, where the wind was softer, and the air a balm, Wesson felt... disconnected.

His job did not afford him such luxuries often, did not warrant these moments of calm where the heart of it—of him—was a tangled mess of bleating reds and blues, wrapped up in crime scene tape and long-buried regrets. He was not accustomed to this gentle rhythm of contained peace, where the only possible drama could be found in how the stars cast their ever-pale judgement, or the faint fluttering of cricket wings as their natural domain was disturbed. Wesson was adapted for screeching vehicles around every corner, the blaring calls of sirens, and the hushed, stressed tones of office rooms within the first forty-eight.

And yet, in spite of himself, he found his heart lulling, like the receding of a tide.

So for once, when Max stepped somewhere close behind and beside him, he had no qualms with conversation.

"Ah," he began, almost hushed, voice giving off the impression he'd been caught daydreaming, "Suppose not." He folded his arms, flexed his fingers against the dense fabric of his work shirt. "Still don't know why I'm here, really."

After a pause, he was given a name, and Wesson blinked, reaching a hand to shift his aviators further upon the crown of his hair. It unintentionally posed another question for his reflections: when was the last time he had given another his own name? The force knew, could know if needed, but beyond the structure of it? He wasn't even confident in his guesses when he last melded in with citisen society. He hummed out a breath, glancing behind them as another person—Luke—passed through the threshold.

"Wesson, Wesson Appaloosa."

It was the clipped, formal tone he adopted from his years, but the underlining of it was clothed in something analogous to a relaxed shift—the breath one releases upon stepping through their home's door. It was the slow ease into something familiar. Right.

He followed the gesture, eyes landing upon the host who welcomed him minutes prior, and the girl who had stood from the congregation, like a shadow misplaced from its owner. In the fleeting light, the scarlet of his eyes dulled, drank in the picture, and his expression adopted the opposite of Max's. It was the downward tug of his mouth, the slight pinch between his brows, and the somnolent, almost sad flickering across his features—he thought of his sister, who had to have been around these youth's age, and how her memory became almost evanescent.

He couldn't forget though, not so soon, not when her presence stood a handful of metres away, alive and well.

And he almost stifled his mirth, feeling it bubble in his chest—instead, he offered the only thing he could think of.

"They're young, better they enjoy it now or never." Quell, and how short her life had been cut. "I know I missed out on too much, too soon. If I could go back to that time, I would." Wesson met Max's glance, his own gesture synonymous to casual indifference, but holding something a bit deeper. He could not place it.

"I'm used to the quiet of my mind, not so much of the environment," he tacked on, almost apathetically, "I don't really belong anywhere, but this spoke out to me, I suppose. A change for once."

With a slight shrug of his shoulders, he heaved out a sigh, voice equally a murmur. "Doesn't hurt. I'm still not sure what to write for mine."

The answer was obvious, he just wanted to avoid it.
Janice Wu (played by jennaisante)

At first, Janice didn't know why the invitation had mysteriously found its way to her doorstep. It was folded with precision and adorned with whimsical scribbles in ink, yet it lacked even her name. The whole thing felt...irrational. Probably a random mistake or an unproductive prank. For Janice, summer was a time to reevaluate her academic curriculum, identify knowledge gaps, and recalibrate her schedule. Her idea of a productive break was color-coding new tabs in her annotated economics PDFs, not sneaking out into open fields with strangers and carrying string lights. And yet, here she was, standing at the edge of a lush green field bathed in the soft glow of lanterns and flickering fireflies. She might mentally calculating the time loss. At least two hours she could have spent refining her literature thesis outline.

But then again, it was because of Holland. The person who had drawn her to this unusual gathering. She didn't believe in making wishes; her life was governed by calculated moves and a strict adherence to process. But the magical atmosphere of the field, complete with fireflies dancing in the air and a vast sky above, tempted her to make an exception. For the first time, she felt an urge to make a wish for someone she cared deeply about. Someone who saw her as more than just a child prodigy. Someone who was drawn to her beyond her intellect. Someone who didn't even take any benefit from knowing her. And that someone was Holland. He had always been, in a way that made her feel both seen and unnerved. It was as if he could perceive the unspoken thoughts she kept hidden.

When Janice handed Holland the lantern, she noticed that her hands were warmer than they had been earlier. She wasn't sure if it was the candle's gentle flame or the proximity to Holland that had caused the change. As she watched him light the lantern with a reverent touch, the soft bloom of flame casting a golden glow across his features, she felt a sense of calm wash over her. The dusk seemed to have softened his edges, making his eyes appear gentler. Janice wondered if he could hear the loud beating of her heart and wasn't sure why it was racing so fast. When Holland offered to release the lantern together, she nodded, anchoring herself with the motion. As he reached for her hands, her initial instinct was to tense up.

However, when his fingers wrapped gently around hers, she felt comfort. His skin was rough, a testament to his hard work and dedication. Janice liked that about him; she liked many things she hadn't mustered the courage to acknowledge. When Holland counted down one... The air was filled with the gentle hum of fireflies, and the distant sound of laughter carried on the breeze. But Janice was oblivious to it all, her focus solely on her own ragged breathing. When he said two... the wind lifted a strand of hair across her face, but she let it stay and not pushing it back. When he said three... they released the lantern together.

The lantern floated upwards, as if it needed to recall how to rise. Then it caught the breeze and drifted slowly into the sky with a golden, glowing orb that seemed to pulse like a heartbeat as it ascended towards the stars. Janice didn't immediately watch it disappear; she was too caught up in the warmth of Holland's hand still touching hers. It was then that she felt it, as if something inside her had shifted and creating space for something new.

And when Holland thanked her, she simply nodded, her voice feeling too fragile to speak. And, for the first time that night, she smiled...

And in her heart, she whispered a silent reply.

I hope you know you were the wish.

ooc

I will wait for the other reply first before I replied again with Bella. ^^;
Their host excused himself as he saw someone he recognized and went to speak to her.

Responding to Luke:

He made his way over casually, boots crunching in the soft grass, and dropped the amp beside her blanket with a soft thud.

“Looks like you’ve been eyeing a stage without a mic,” he said, cocking a brow.

"Huh? Oh I don't sing...," Tabby began. Then she realized he may have meant that metaphorically, referring to the fact that she didn't have an amp for her dark blue Charvel electric guitar.

Then, offering his hand like it was an afterthought, “Luke.”

"Uh, Tabby," the young girl replied quickly and shyly. She shook his hand. "Um, nice to meet you." The redhead bit her lower lip and fidgeted with a lock of hair for a moment before realizing what she was doing and stopped.

He motioned to the amp. “Mini rig. Won’t rattle the trees unless you push it. It’s yours for now—if you promise not to murder the vibe.”

"Thanks," Tabby responded. "I don't think Eddie Van Halen's "Eruption" is really appropriate to the mood." She removed the padded case from her shoulder and unzipped it. The guitar was blue, had a dark neck and headstock with two single coil pickups and a humbucker. The brand was favored in particular by metal guitarists in the 80s, one of the things that had drawn Tabby to it.

His tone was teasing, but not unkind. The kind of challenge given to someone who looked like they could handle it.

“Try not to kill it,” he added with a smirk. “This crowd’s more stargazing and soft confessions than power chords and crowd dives.”

"So, uh, how does this work? Do I just play," Tabby asked. She looked around to see if there was a stage or focused area or if she should just plug in and play at a volume comfortable to those immediately around her. Tabby had not intended to perform. She had only wandered over here after seeing the flyer, seeing the gathering as something to do to pass the time for the afternoon.

He glanced over his shoulder, scanning the path again—half-expecting Bella’s arrival any minute now—but turned back, offering a simple nod toward the speaker.

“Go on, Rock Star. Let’s see if you can whisper with a weapon built to wail.”

Tabby nodded. Her normal 'metal tone' was not appropriate here. She realized the amp had a reverb control built in and turned it up to make the tone nice and liquidly, providing a bit of a delayed echo to the notes. She wished she had a chorus pedal to help make her tone even more delayed and lucid, but like her amp, her effects were on a pilgrimage across the country along with the family's furniture in another state.
Max Beauchamp (played anonymously)

Since Tabitha didn't response anything to his offers, Max took it as a slight rejection. He would just laugh it off and it seemed the woman now entangled with another person came whom introduced himself as Luke. Max watched Wesson with a kind of studied ease, arms loosely crossed, shoulders slack, the posture of a man who wasn’t rushing to interrupt a silence that had taken its time to settle. It surprised him, how easy the stillness was out here. The soft bend of the wildflowers around their boots. The way the wind moved through the trees like breath through lungs too long held tight. It was… not his natural habitat.

But it wasn’t unwelcome.

And Wesson’s tone, the way he spoke like someone who carried ghosts in his coat pockets but never bragged about them, that rang familiar. Max respected it.

He cracked a half-smile when the man finally gave his name. Wesson Appaloosa. It sounded like something out of a paperback detective novel your grandfather might’ve stashed on a dusty shelf, just western enough to raise a brow, just real enough to make you wonder how much blood had been washed off the boots it belonged to. Fitting. Max didn’t offer his own again. Wesson already knew it, and more importantly, Max wasn’t in the business of repeating things unless it paid off.

He followed the older man’s gaze toward Holland and the girl beside him — their silhouettes framed in lantern-light, laughter unguarded, unaware of how their brief connection stirred ghosts in the men watching from the shadows. Max noticed Wesson’s frown, the tug in the line of his brow that suggested the memory hit personal. Not envy, not regret — something gentler, sadder.

Maybe it was something else. Max hummed in agreement. Low and short.

“Yeah,” he muttered, eyes still fixed ahead. “They’ve got time to mess it up. Get heartbroken and dramatic and write bad poetry about it.” A pause, then a crooked grin. “If they’re lucky.”

He looked down at the blank lantern still cradled under his arm and exhaled through his nose. “I wasn’t planning on writing anything either,” he admitted, voice softer now. “Came out here for the quiet. Figured maybe I’d find the end of a thread I’ve been tugging on. Or maybe just a place to think without sirens.”

He didn’t say without corpses. He didn’t need to.

Max tilted his head back, looking up at the stars with something almost like suspicion. As if they might wink out the second he trusted them. As if peace was a trick that hadn’t shown its hand yet.

He stole a glance at Wesson — the deep creases, the storm-worn steadiness of him — and there was comfort there, in the unspoken understanding between two men who knew too much and said too little.

“Guess we’re both off-duty tonight,” Max said quietly. “Might as well pretend that means something.”

And though his voice had a flicker of humor, his eyes betrayed something heavier — something watching, waiting, wondering if a moment like this could hold under the weight of who they both were when the lights came back on.
A lot had happened in a few seconds and Tabby realized Max, the guy who had bumped into her had asked her to join him. Several people had been talking at once. She didn't realize his invitation had been directed at her.

Tabby glanced up from fiddling with the amp. It was a welcome distraction because she wasn't sure exactly what to do next on this impromptu performance. She had just pulled a cord and her tuner from a pouch on her gig bag.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sorry," Tabby replied apologetically. "Of course."

OOC: Sorry, a lot going on and I missed that last part of Max's previous post. Send me a PM if I missed anyone else who tagged me.

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